


Restoration, Degradation

by bookgirl86



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Community College, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-17 23:36:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21518311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookgirl86/pseuds/bookgirl86
Summary: Stiles works on developing a future of his choosing, on his own terms.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski & Original Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	Restoration, Degradation

**Author's Note:**

> This story is absolutely a work in progress in the truest sense. Updates will be posted sporadically, including any adjustments to partners and/or other characters. Any necessary warnings will be added and updated as needed, same for any additional tags.

Despite the overcast January sky, the morning was bright enough to leave behind sunbursts when he closed his eyes. Stiles reached into the console in the center of the jeep’s dash and pulled out his sunglasses. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, adjusting the glasses across the bridge of his nose, before doing an Elvis Presley worthy lip curl and drawling, “thank you, thank you very much.” 

He slipped the gear shift into reverse and backed out of the driveway of his childhood home, sparing only a glance at the paint peeling off of the mailbox and the remnants of dead grass poking through the cracks in the sidewalk leading to the leaf strewn front porch. Beacon Hills was one of many towns in Northern California continuing to feel the effects of the last recession and it showed in the worn look of residents’ homes and community spaces. Stiles saw the decline progress further and further each time he drove out of Beacon Hills to his classes at Beacon County Community College. 

As he passes out of Beacon Hills official town limits, he reminds himself, “new day, new school; new day, new school.” He drives through the intersection by the grocery store and gas station he’s shopped at for his entire life and instead of turning left for the BCCC campus, he continues on until he hits the highway that will take him two counties over to Sacramento City College. The folder of forms and course lists are tucked away in his bag. The conversation with his advisor before Thanksgiving was still fresh on his mind. BCCC could offer him enough credits to get his general requirements completed before he transferred to UCLA for criminal psychology, he’d deferred his entrance to save on tuition costs, but there was a new series of courses being offered at Sacramento City College that would provide him with more options for starting his psychology credits before transferring, possibly enough to save him another whole semester at UCLA. 

His transfer went smoothly; SCC accepted him easily with his near perfect GPA and exemplary recommendation letters from his BCCC instructors and his internship advisors. Now to adjust to life as a commuter student. Instead of driving 15 minutes across town 4 days a week, he would be driving an hour each way to get to SCC at least 3 maybe 4 days a week. Even with gas prices rising, he’d be saving thousands of dollars in tuition, so in the long run it was worth it. 

The very British voice of his GPS app guided him into a public parking deck a few blocks from the college’s administration building where he had to check in and collect his student ID and confirm his course registration. The walk from the parking deck to the administration building reinforced Stiles’ opinion of community colleges: No matter where you go, you’ll find the same mix of kids fresh out of high school and putting off true adulthood, later in life students who are trying to shake things up, the occasional senior citizen taking an arts and culture class, and students like Stiles who knew this place was a means to an end. As he waited for his turn to have an ID photo taken, he revisited the conversation he’d had over the semester break with his Dad and with his best friend, Scott.

***

“Stiles the tuition won’t break us if you’re ready for UCLA. I see that face you’re making and I mean it. You’ve already put in a year and a half at BCCC, it’s enough,” his dad insisted. Noah Stilinski had been fortunate to come up through his schooling at a time when summer jobs could pay the next year’s tuition and part time holiday gigs could cover housing. He knew his son wasn’t as fortunate, regretted the circumstances that had cost him his wife and the future they’d planned for their son. 

Stiles took a deep breath and willed the tension around his eyes to relax. Another breath and he was pushing back against his father’s suggestion. “It’s not that I’m not ready for UCLA Dad. It’s not. But with everything going on around here in the last few years I want to make sure that when I go, I kill it. Besides you’re always saying I need to expose myself to more mundane people,” he said, giving an eyebrow waggle. “Sacramento has to have a few of those hanging about, unlike everyone left around here.” Stiles sighed, pushed a hand through his hair, scrubbing at the nape of his neck. 

“I have a lot to learn still. I promise I’m not giving up on it. Getting in was awesome and their criminal psych program is one of the best. But I have to do it my way. Can you let me do that, try it my way?” At this last question, Stiles looked Noah squarely in the eye, no drumming fingers, no shifting weight from foot to foot; he was solid, grounded, as he waited for his dad to reply.

Noah closed his eyes and shook his head but eventually said, “Yes son, do it your way.”

Later that week, Stiles got a text from Scott asking for a ride home from his shift at the animal clinic. 

“Dude, you won’t believe the cases I get to assist on now that I’m almost certified,” Scott beamed. He was one semester and an exam away from officially being a vet tech. He turned in his seat to get a better look at Stiles. 

Stiles cut a glance over to his friend before asking, “What do I have something on my face? Or no, you’ve finally seen the error of your ways and decided I’m your one true love after all?” Stiles batted his eyes exaggeratedly and tilted his head in a way that was supposed to be coy. 

“I don’t know man,” Scott said. “You smell,” he inhaled deeply, “you smell sad. Do you want to talk?”

“God you and your super sniffer. I’m fine,” Stiles insisted, braking for a red light. “Where am I dropping you off?”

“You’re not getting out of this Stiles,” Scott insisted. “You want to hang at my house? Mom’s working swing shift and Kira’s having dinner with her parents.”

Stiles flicked on his turn switch and maneuvered the Jeep into the left lane. At the green arrow, he pulled into traffic and made himself ease back into the driver's seat. 

“Look buddy, I’m not sad okay. Not really anyway. I’m just tired of being practical all the time. My advisor at BCCC recommended I transfer to City College in Sacramento for a year before going to UCLA.” Stiles risked a glance over at Scott. Scott who still couldn’t believe he’d actually leave Beacon Hills. Scott who was starting to clench his crooked jaw. Scott who had difficulty staying anchored since his first love, Allison, died three years ago. 

“You’re moving to Sacramento now too? How many new territories do we need to scope out? L.A. was bad enough,” Scott said, tension bleeding into his tone. 

Stiles rolled his eyes. “I’m not moving doofus. I’m going to commute for as long as my baby can keep me cruising.” He spared a pat for the dash. “No negotiations required man. Just in and out a few times a week. I’m just frustrated that it’s taking longer even though I know the cost is more manageable and I could use the extra time before leaving for L.A.”

Scott let out a dramatic whoosh of breath. “Good. That’s, yeah, okay that’s not so bad. For us I mean. It does suck for you though.” He clapped a hand on Stiles shoulder. “You’re gonna do great man, but not gonna lie, you going to L.A. is going to suck on so many levels.” 

Stile kept his eyes focused on the traffic ahead as he prepared to turn into Scott’s neighborhood. “Yeah, well, we all have to learn how to compromise sooner or later.”

***

The photo could be worse, he thought. At least they’d let him use only his first initial and Stiles as his name of record. He had almost an hour before his first class and thanks to online shopping he’d already bought all of his required books for the semester. “Google Maps to the rescue,” he announced as he pulled up the app on his phone and searched out the nearest coffee shop. 

“Sugar and Spice Coffeehouse is .5 miles southeast of your current location. Proceed to College Way and turn right,” directed the British navigator. Stiles memorized the map and put his phone away before setting off for the coffee shop.


End file.
